Prisoner
by The Freelancer
Summary: A weeping child, left for dead under the dark gift’s curse. Sickened in the sun, she is quick to realize what she had become. She falls desperately in love with her savior. Wrapped in chains of her love for him, he won't release her. ArmandXOC and others.
1. Introduction

**Title:** _Prisoner_

**Rated:** M for later chapters, mainly for gore, bad language and suggestive scenes.

**Pairings:** ArmandXOC, ArmandXMarius, LestatXLouis, and LestatXOC if you squint.

**Summary:** A weeping child, left for dead under the dark gift's curse. Sickened in the sun, she is quick to realize what she had become. She falls desperately in love with her savior.

**Warning:** Male to male relationships, possible mushy tone.

* * *

_**A**_ _**weeping child**_, seeming nothing more under the night sky, black as the ill intensions showered upon her.

Amongst her silken, alabaster skin, there were pale pink obtrusions; burns that healed painfully slow, despite her morbid position in the world that should have made it a quick pain, nothing more. She had yet to feed due to her heavy heart and the scarcity of humans, which she knew, though she loathed it, would sustain her.

There were no signs of life anywhere near, the closest city being Paris, which was too far for her to even see. She was alone in a seemingly endless field of grass with nothing special to look at except maybe the stars and a few trees. But she had tired of the darkened colors; the once brilliant green soiled a dark inky black, and the previously magnificent blue sky distorted into deep violet freckled with diamonds of silver, which already sickened her.

It weakened her the continue crying so, but she couldn't help it, the tears fell quickly and with no signs of stopping, the horror of finding them crimson red did nothing but encourage them on.

Yes – the child, no more than maybe eighteen, perhaps twenty (_so young!_), was a creature of the night, a vampire.

Her life had once consisted of colors – blue, violet, and green, yellow, red – all of which she loved dearly. As an aspiring – or once aspiring – painter, she considered a sunset a symphony of hues, the oils of her brush strokes capturing the lovely picture in colors very similar, but never quite the same. Unaware of what she had became, she ventured into the sun, drawing back when it burned her now flawless skin.

And so she sat, knees drawn to her chest and arms tucked safely her body and legs, weeping silently into her cold hands. Her long, sleek, black hair fell in tangled tresses about her shoulders and back, a few strands working to cover her blood-smeared face while she wept.

There was silence. She heard the life of insects, the grass brushing together, the gently swaying leaves of a nearby tree, but nothing else. Not her heart, not her breath, not the footsteps behind her. It was only when the stranger had gently placed his hands on her shoulders that she jumped and recoiled, scrambling away from whoever it was. She took this moment to appraise him, realizing instantly that he was no human. He was simply too beautiful, too lovely to be anything natural.

His auburn hair was long and slightly curly, and his eyes were the most enticing amber she had ever seen. He was lovely in every aspect but his clothes. They were tattered and old, brown but had once been black. She also noted he was a child, or so he seemed, no older than her, if not, perhaps younger.

Before she had time to further contemplate this boy, he was right before her, bending to eye level in once swift, graceful movement. He opened his arms in an all to inviting offer, his eyes held nothing but kindness and compassion, though it didn't reach his face.

He was a vampire, just as she was, and though she despised herself for it, she need only look upon his face and feel an uncontainable love for the boy before her.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had leaned against his chest, hands still covering her crystal blue eyes, bloody from her tears and nearly sighed when he wrapped his arms around her comfortingly. Instead a very silent and muted sob escaped her to which he responded by gently placing his hand on the back of her head.

"Shhh, my lovely one. Calm yourself, there's no need for tears to dampen such a beautiful face," he cooed, voice running like velvet over her skin. She almost shivered.

"He left me… attacked without warning, drank without sympathy and changed me to spite me. When I woke he had vanished, disposing me as far from civilization as he could. He left me for dead…" she trembled out from between plump peach lips, dyed a deeper shade by the tears she had managed to catch on her tongue. A soft sob shook through her body, but it sounded like a beautiful sigh.

"And he is a cowardly half wit who has already been given his dues. Hush now, my little one, he will never come back to do you any more harm," he said softly, running his fingers through her soft, tangled hair, working out the knots as he did so; the end product being gorgeous silken hair, straight and wondrous. Never had he seen such hair on someone with such molten blue eyes, it was exotic in its own way, "Come with me, my lovely. I know how much pain you are in; let me ease it to the best of my ability. I will teach you about our kind, you need only stay by my side."

She looked up at him then, the full force of her gorgeous blue eyes hitting him surprisingly hard, though it was probably only the contrast of the crimson red tears that brimmed on her thick lashes, or the blood red of her extravagant taffeta dress.

He was not very surprised when he saw her shake her head, "…There…" she seemed unsure of herself, and she tightened her arms around his waist, "there is no cure then…?"

"Unfortunately, no, my beauty…" she heard the sympathy and love laced thick in his velvet voice and again shivered, but as soon as the words fell from his beautiful lips, she felt her heart sink, though it did not break. She might have only been a painter, or the daughter of a wealthy man, but she had been raised strong, to overcome change. This was the biggest change she would ever have to live through – though, in a sense she hadn't really _lived_ through it – but she was confident she would conform eventually. Before she had been hopeless, alone, or so she thought. Now with this lovely, beautiful stranger, there was a glimmer of what she dared called hope.

"What is your name?" she asked, almost forgetting his news of no cure. He was simply too fascinating to look at and he filled her mind with ideas that could be painted if she ever got the chance to do so. Her eyes traced his every detail in absorption, his young face, his large, amber eyes, his auburn hair. Ooooh, he was simply too lovely…

"Armand," he said softly, a hand rising to brush the soft skin of her cheek, "and yours, if I may?"

She could've sighed at the soft touch, "…Aethelfled…"

Again, he couldn't help but marvel in how exotic everything was about her. She was like a rare treat he happened upon and delighted in the thought. Her name sounded so unique it was the likeness of a spell. Fearing it would be cast upon himself as he gazed at her captivated, he glanced away as soon as his mind began to wander.

"Let us be off, precious, there's not two hours before the dawn comes. I wish not to see any more burns upon that lovely flesh," he sighed, a frigid finger gently ghosting over a burn on her high cheekbone, soothing the dull sting for a second before the heat returned to it.

She said nothing as he released her, a soft groan of disappointment fell from her parted lips, but she followed him nonetheless, marveling in his silent steps and delighting when she realized she made barely any sound either.


	2. Wolfkiller

**Title: **_Prisoner_

**Rated: **M for later chapters, mainly for gore, bad language and suggestive scenes.

**Pairings: **ArmandXOC, ArmandXMarius, LestatXLouis, and LestatXOC if you squint.

**Summary: **A weeping child, left for dead under the dark gift's curse. Sickened in the sun, she is quick to realize what she had become. She falls desperately in love with her savior.

**Warning: **Male to male relationships, possible mushy tone.

**Authors comment: **The point of view has changed. The story is now in first person through Aethelfled's eyes. Enjoy.

* * *

There was so much for me to learn, yet at the same time so little.

There was not a thing on this Earth – not my now deceased father, my paints and easels (long since forgotten, I sometimes wondered if I still had any ability…) or my life itself – that I loved more than I loved Armand. If there was nothing sustaining my woeful heart, he was my last resort, never failing. I couldn't possibly count his flaws; he had so many. They were not in his skin, his beauty or physical appearance. They were in his judgment, his heart and his mind. With every flaw I found, I loved him unutterably more.

These flaws were what made him Armand, and they were so beloved of me I could sometimes hardly find it in me to call them as such, as perfect as they were in my eyes.

A few years ago when he had first found me, I refused a drop of human blood. I couldn't bear the thought of it, but my body ached when I saw the crimson as if it were trying to burn me from the inside out. My stomach churned but at the same time begged me to drink. My teeth would ring from my sickness but I found them sharp with excitement.

This process went on for weeks, weakening me further and further.

That is… until Armand demanded I drank, if not for myself, for him.

And hearing how it tore at him to see me slowly fade and slim, how much pain it caused him, was all it took. I could suffer him nothing; I could deny him nothing. I took the human blood without a moments hesitation, the world disappearing as I drank. It was lovely, a peace, a near ecstasy flooding my head, making it swim. I heard the battle drum of the mans heartbeat as I clutched him in my hands, my lips moving against his skin almost in a grateful way. He held me close as I took from him, and I released him just before his last heartbeat, taking pride in the fact it was enjoyable for both.

Armand was smiling softly, almost relieved when I looked up at him, seeking approval. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me in an embrace I returned happily, a warmth spreading through me due to the man's blood.

"You've done well, my lovely one. I had expected you to cause him pain because it was your first attempt. I fear I sorely underestimated you," he smiled, his lips pulling upward at the corners against my hair.

"I did not care about the man. Only that you be pleased," I said, tightening my hold around his waist.

"Oh, but you must. Such innocence is precious to us, you must be gentle," he whispered, "It is a gift."

I pulled back to look at his beautiful face, my question died in my throat for a second. Regaining myself, "But why? Why is it a gift when there are so many humans who scatter about? I could have anyone I please, couldn't I?" I couldn't help the slightly scornful tone in my voice. It was not for disgust to humans, I loved them so. It was directed at myself for being what I was and for what I had just done.

He pressed his lips to my temple softly before answering, not understanding my distain, "Ah, just minutes before you had such a respect for life, what has happened?"

"I still do! I took that man only because you would have suffered longer if I hadn't. Bear me no ill will… I will adjust with time, I promise you, Armand… but I feel sick. I once was a human; I can hardly bear the thought of taking life. I grieve for this man now and feel sick as his blood courses through me," I sighed, suddenly embarrassed for him to see my face and hid it against his chest.

He held me at arms length then, so I could not hide my face and studied it silently. He was a statue but his eyes, searching my face, perhaps my thoughts but he would only find the fear of disappointing him. I wondered vaguely if my love for him disgusted him. If maybe when I thought of how dear to me he was, he would scoff silently and recall unknown past times with the same situation.

"Of course not!" he suddenly whispered, eyes wide as though he had just heard something insulting. It didn't take a scientist to figure out that he had heard my silent musings, and I couldn't look him in the eyes, though his bore into mine. I felt my heart pound with embarrassment and bowed my head in shame wordlessly.

He put a finger under my chin and lifted my face, forcing eye contact.

"You have not the vaguest conception of how it delights me each time I hear your thoughts. Your love for me is perhaps the only joyful thing I've experienced in over two centuries, never doubt that, my beautiful Aethelfled," he said, at first fiercely before his serious expression melted into a sort of sadness. I didn't know what to make of his sadness, if it were for me or god knows what, but I instantly found I hated such an expression and such a beautiful, boyish face and I folded my arms about his neck loosely, smiling when he returned the embrace.

"Oh, Armand. I will never doubt what you say to me. But how will I believe you when in return for my love I receive a stoic expression, endearments and nothing more?" I asked gently, my words falling timidly from my lips.

He pulled away only slightly, his arms still around my waist and stared at me in surprise, his face resembling a boys more than ever in the taken aback expression that chiseled away the last of the fine mask he wore around everyone.

"… My lovely… My Aethelfled… do you feel unloved, unwanted?" he asked, a grief-stricken expression slowly overpowering the shock. He caressed my cheek in his hand as he waited in fear for an answer.

To be honest, the only love or care for that matter I had never received from him were his endearments, 'my lovely, my beautiful, my Aethelfled,' and it was simply not enough for me, as greedy as I was. I loved him more than I thought myself ever capable of loving, despite this.

"Oh, my little one…" he said in despair, clutching me to him as if his very life depended on it and I felt my heart jump at the gesture, "My gorgeous Aethelfled… I would die if you were to ever cease to love me… I would be at the mercy of the fire...! How can I describe it to you? How can I make you feel loved, as you so unbelievably are?"

I held him to me tighter still, determined to destroy any trace of distance between us, "There's no words to describe how light, and loved I feel when you hold me like this. Please do this more often, I beg you…"

"And so I shall! You need not beg to me ever. I cannot deny you anything; I haven't the strength…" he whispered fiercely, one hand had reached up to tangle the fingers in my hair as he held my head against his shoulder.

I felt too content for words as I heard him say this. I was both terrified and thrilled that he was showing so much emotion. Thrilled because he was finally loving me back with almost as much passion as myself. Terrified because I had never seen such emotion in his expression or heart. I feared it would break him. It was a silly thought because he had always been strong, and I knew, even with this outpouring of emotion, that he still would be.

And since then, I have gone out of my way to do nothing but please him. I may have been a very young vampire – only six years into this new life – but I was certainly at an advantage, I soon found. Many other vampires had been brought into this life with 'Dark Rituals' and such things and many changed could not even get out of their coffins. I heard their screams and howls of despair, more than once I had asked Armand why they couldn't be released. He would always reply that they were weak and couldn't finish the rituals, so they weren't worthy.

I remember when my loathing for such a thing took hold of me and I finally talked back to him.

I had grabbed his arm and stared at him in the eye as he whipped around, surprised.

My lips trembled for a second before I spoke, "I have not completed such a thing. If this is the rule than I am not worthy. Bury me and do not release me if I cannot escape, no matter how I beg," I said firmly. It wasn't a request, it was a demand, and as his white face paled even more, he searched my unchangeable, set-in-stone expression. His beautiful, horrorstricken face melted into his own form of determination.

"No. You have already drunk human blood – it wouldn't be valid," he said, eyebrows furrowed.

"Then starve me until I can bear it no longer. If you will not release those vampires and at least burn them out of mercy, then what gives me the _right_ to be any form of exception to this law?" I asked fiercely.

"You contradict yourself, if I release them they'll burn you as well," he replied with the same amount of ferocity.

"Then put me in the ground. I'm a vampire, not a charlatan," I said, giving his arm a squeeze to emphasize my intensity before releasing it, my hand dropping to a fist at my side.

I stared at me for a long moment, his expression a frenzy of thought, fear, despair, anger and irritation.

Then he turned his back to me, a firm 'no' fell from his lips. I wanted to argue, to say something that would convince him to do it, but something in his tone caught me off guard and my anger died suddenly. He didn't move to leave, he simply stood with his back to me and I then felt the undeniable urge to embrace him. So I did.

Something warm dripped onto my hand and horror bolted through my body like a wave of lightning. I moved to retract my hand to confirm my suspicion but he grabbed it, his thumb smearing the wetness before releasing my hand and pulling out of my embrace. He never turned to look back at me.

"No," he whispered softly before he disappeared, and I heard the greed and anxiety in his tone, no matter how heavily coated with anger it was.

I stared at the spot he had been for a moment before lifting my hand to examine it, shame welling in my chest as I studied the crimson red smear standing out against my pale skin.

I would never bring up the subject again.

And the years past quickly, soon my vampiric age of 132 would come and though I had no means to celebrate, I was happy to have lasted so long, nonetheless. Then came news of a stranger with sunshine hair, and a red velvet cloak lined with wolf fur who walks amongst men as if he were one of them.

I saw no danger in the man other than that of exposure, but then came news of him entering a church without burning which I had been taught would happen if we entered something so holy. My interest peaked while the others hatred flared.

It was sometime near midnight when I finally decided to set out and find this vampire with sunshine hair. I had been in the middle of combing my hair through to look presentable when Armand caught me, confusion on his face.

"Where are you going?" he asked, walking up to stand beside me where I sat, brush running through my ink black hair. There was no mirror for me to survey myself here in les innocents, so I didn't try to fix it very much, I simply combed it all back, no loose strand fell into my face as it so usually does.

"To find this man dressed in red velvet and wolf fur," I said, placing the brush down on a nearby, decrepit excuse for a stand. I hated how we lived, used to extravagance and masterfully carved wood. How dreary to think I was to spend eternity in a graveyard in this form of life style.

His expression changed quickly from confusion to authoritive, "No. I forbid it."

"Darling, I'm the third oldest vampire you know. I've only lasted this long because of you, I think. I've done as you asked, done everything in my power to please you, love you. You cannot deny me this. I will find this vampire and I want no one to follow me, lest his home be destroyed due to the impossible and ridiculous laws we follow," I answered, never meeting his eyes except for when I said he couldn't deny me this. Instead I busied myself by moving about the dark and damp room, gathering some gold, and picking out better clothes.

"I can deny you, it's within my right as the coven leader!" he growled, angry that I'd taken his word as nothing. It wasn't true, I would always follow what he wanted of me and his disapproval had created a doubt that started to scratch at my common sense. Then again, common sense _isn't_ common.

"And it's also within my right as your right hand to pass judgment just as powerful as yours! Your ways are barbaric, old and boorish. Satan, the Dark Gift, Dark Path, rubbish! All of it! He's so young; he doesn't know the laws. I know that if you pass judgment it will be clouded by the olden ways. I will not allow it," I said, still never looking at him, finding a tie and pulling my hair into a tight, high ponytail, making sure there were no loose strands.

"It doesn't matter if he's ignorant, laws will not bend for special cases," he said angrily, his beautiful features distorting into an even more angry grimace.

"They bent for me, did they not?" I said softly, shrugging off my old, tattered, brown cloak and slipping on a maroon red dress, Armand turned away as I did so. It was almost just as tattered, strands of torn fabric draping about my hands where the sleeves should have been and shredded near my feet. The shoulders were disappearing and it left large exposures where my pale skin shone through. The dress fit me perfectly, though and that was why I liked it better. It hugged my waist and curved with my hips, by far the best article of clothing I owned. The one I was found in.

Armand was silent, unable to answer my truthful statement. He loved me too much for any judgment to be passed on me and simply introduced me into the coven as if I had done every little deed the laws demanded. I would not have him destroying the life of such a young vampire when I was in the same situation as him. He never walked with anyone, so I was sure he was alone.

I was soon finished preparing when I heard his thought on my appearance.

Walking up to him, I gave him a kiss, surprising, but pleasing him. He had been wondering why I was dressing so beautifully for such a stranger and the jealousy coating those thoughts was too adorable to go unnoticed. I would never love anyone as much as I loved him.

I gave him a smile, "You're so silly sometimes. All I want is to look presentable to him. There's no use in approaching someone who knows nothing of our kind looking primitive and stupid. I want him to believe I'm more than a dirt covered child in rags," I said softly, kissing him again.

"He is a fool if he think this is so," Armand said, grabbing the hand that I had placed against his cheek and kissing it.

I couldn't help but feel flattered. It felt so nice to dress this way, or anything close to as beautifully I used to dress. But the best part was that Armand was the first to enjoy the sight, and I knew suddenly that I wasn't dressing this way for the stranger but for him.

I hugged him tight to me and kissed him once more before disappearing, or so it seemed, making my way out of les innocents and into the shadows of the street, ready to being my search for the vampire who walked among men.


End file.
